


Three Times Mickey Wasn't Knocked Up (And One Time He Was)

by SeaofRhye (orphan_account)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Fluff, Gallagher Antics, Halloween Costumes, Ian Uses Instagram, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Mickey is a dumbass, Mpreg, baby stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SeaofRhye
Summary: What the title says. I miss them so much already. When is Season 11?
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 6
Kudos: 270





	Three Times Mickey Wasn't Knocked Up (And One Time He Was)

The first time was really fucking stupid. He was hungover in a fucking taxi, and he’d just thrown up in the backseat two blocks from home. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind to shut up the angry Syrian driver who started yelling at him for ruining the seats. 

“I’m sorry!” he’d barked. “I’m pregnant! It’s fucking morning sickness!”

The second he said it, he wanted to throw himself out of the car, but the guy clearly understood because he stopped yelling and said something that Mickey took to mean “Congratulations!” He even waived the fee, and Mickey ended up not having to pay for the ride or the cleanup. 

He never tells anyone the story, though, because he swore he’d never do something that stupid again. Ever.

***

The second time is a total misunderstanding. 

He’s in a store with Ian, buying some stuff for Freddy’s first birthday. Ian is in baby heaven, gushing over the tiny clothes and toys, and Mickey’s just trailing along shaking his head at his sap of a husband. All this baby stuff is kind of cute, but he didn’t understand why a kid needs so much of everything. 

Then he spies something, a pair of overalls that look like ones Yev had as a baby, and he feels a wave of nostalgia for those days. It’s a struggle for him to stay in touch with Svetlana and Yev, especially when they didn’t even live in the country anymore, but he has some positive memories of when Yev was small and he and Ian were doing the whole parenting thing, before it all went to hell. 

He steps closer and touches the fuzzy blue corduroy, and he turns his head to get Ian’s attention. He holds up the overalls, and Ian’s face goes soft. He smiles and nods, and Mickey starts walking over when some lady nearby smiles at him. 

“Those are adorable!” she comments. “Are you having a boy?”

“Uh, no,” Mickey says after a second, because as a rule he does not like to talk to complete strangers. “My husband and I are getting something for his nephew.”

“Oh!” For some reason, she goes bright red. “Oh, so you’re not--I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to assume--”

Mickey has no idea why she’s so embarrassed, so he shrugs awkwardly. 

“It’s okay.” 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she continues. “I have four nieces myself, and people were always assuming because I was buying baby stuff that I was pregnant, and--”

“What?” Mickey instinctively glances around to make sure nobody else can hear this insane conversation. 

“I know, I should’ve known better!” She gives him a conciliatory smile. “Anyway, I hope your little nephew likes his present.”

She walks off, and Mickey’s standing there completely stunned, mouth gaping at the huge leap of logic that crazy bitch had to take to assume he was--that he--

He glances down and smooths his shirt over his front. He doesn’t look pregnant, right? Okay, he might have gained a little bit of weight, but not that much. He’s always had what Ian calls “fluctuations.” It’s normal.

“Mick?” Ian’s come over with his shopping basket. “You okay? What did she say to you?”

Mickey shakes his head. No way is he having this conversation here. 

“Tell you later.” He tosses the overalls into the basket and storms out of the store.

Ten minutes later, when Ian’s made his purchases and they’re back in their car, Mickey relates the story to him and Ian laughs in spite of himself. 

“Mick, it was an honest mistake. Kind of open-minded of her to just assume you were a carrier.”

“Fucking nosy is what it was,” Mickey snarls. “It’s no one’s business but mine even if I wasn’t one.” 

“And it was embarrassing,” Ian says sagely. 

“Right!” Mickey feels better knowing that Ian understands, even if he does find it funny. 

***

The third time is all his fault, but it was for a good reason.

Ian’s driving them back from visiting Fiona in Cleveland, and Mickey gets sleepy when he doesn’t drive. Ian had bought him a neck pillow so he could take a nap without waking up with a stiff neck. Mickey initially thought it was stupid, but it’s really comfortable and now he keeps it in the car all the time.  
They’re almost home when they drive past a fucking speed trap, and the cop turns the siren on seconds after they go by, even though they can’t be going more than six miles over the speed limit. 

“Shit,” Ian groans when he sees the lights in the rear-view mirror, and Mickey feels the same way. They are literally one hour from their own apartment and their own bed, and neither of them wants to deal with the police. 

Regardless, Ian pulls the car over and Mickey gives him a look. 

“Seriously? We don’t have an extra hundred for a fucking ticket.”

Ian shrugs. “I’ll try and get out of it.”

Mickey scoffs and watches the cop gets closer. In a flash of inspiration, he grabs the neck pillow and shoves it under his shirt, zipping his coat to make sure it doesn’t fall out.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Shut up,” Mickey growls. “Tell him we’re going to the hospital.”

Ian twigs, and bites his lip hard. “Jesus Christ, Mickey. Really?”

Mickey doesn’t have time to convince him, because the cop is at the door and that fucking flashlight is in their eyes, and it’s showtime. 

“Did you gentlemen know--”

Mickey screams so loud that Ian jumps and the cop takes a step back. 

“What the--?”

“Uh, we think he’s in labor,” Ian says, and Mickey’s never been more glad he married him. “He’s been having contractions for the past few hours and they’re really close--”

Mickey starts huffing and grabs onto Ian’s arm. 

“And we just really need to get to the hospital!” Ian concludes. “Look, officer, we’ll pay the ticket, but--”

“Just fucking let us go!” Mickey hollers, figuring the only thing he can do to sell it further is actually give birth. 

“All right!” the cop says, backing away. “I can escort you if you want.”

“Not necessary, thanks,” Ian says with a smile. “But what’s your name? Maybe we’ll name our kid after you!” 

Mickey digs his fingers into his arm. “Fuckin’ drive, Gallagher,” he mutters. 

“Never mind!” Ian takes off, and by the time the cop is out of sight, they’re both laughing hard enough that they almost have to pull over again.

“I can’t believe that worked!” Ian gasps. “Where’d you learn to scream like that?”

Mickey tosses the pillow into the backseat. “Just remembered the last movie I saw where someone pushed out a kid.”

“Well, good job, Meryl Streep,” Ian teases. “Next time we need to get out of a ticket, maybe I’ll try that.”

“Fine, but get your own neck pillow baby,” Mickey chuckles.

***

The fourth time is for a Halloween party, and Ian had the idea of them going as a “shotgun wedding” couple, complete with Mickey wearing a cheap wedding dress (they flipped a coin and he lost, okay?) with a pillow underneath. Ian wears one of Mickey’s sleeveless plaid shirts, camo pants, a trucker hat and a fake rifle over his shoulder and still looks hot.

“S’not fair,” Mickey says when they come home. He’s pretty blitzed, since Ian was the designated driver, and Mickey might have taken the running gag of “drinking for two” a little farther than intended. But right now he feels good--warm, happy, and weirdly reluctant to take off his costume. 

“What’s not fair?” Ian says, making sure Mickey’s not about to fall off the couch. 

“You look so fucking hot,” Mickey mumbles. “People thought you were a sexy hunter. Nobody said I looked hot.”

Ian laughs and kisses his head. “You want some coffee, or water? You should probably get out in front of that hangover.”

“Whatever,” Mickey stretches out on the couch, which is always more comfortable when he’s drunk. He starts running his hand idly over the pillow under his dress, wondering what it would be like if it was real, if that was part of him. 

It could be. 

Even drunk, Mickey tries to ignore that thought. They don’t want kids yet. It’s only been three years and they’re still living below the poverty line in an apartment that only has one bedroom, and not a big one either. Besides, kids are messy and loud and weird and expensive…

...and Mickey wouldn’t care as long as it was Ian’s kid. Their kid would be perfect. A fucking angel. Best kid who ever lived. 

“Hey,” Ian’s back with a bottle of water, and Mickey reaches up for it. “Can you make it to bed, or do you want to sleep here tonight?”

“You sleep here,” Mickey says, grabbing at his leg. 

Ian manages to squeeze his six-foot-whatever frame onto the cushions next to him and snuggles in. 

“Cozy. Why do we even have a bed again?”

“I want a kid.” Oh...shit, he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Did he? No, definitely not. 

“What?”

Mickey blinks, taking a big gulp of water to stall. “Uh...don’t you want kids?”

“You know I do, but I thought you wanted to wait.”

“Okay,” Mickey says, pressing a hand against Ian’s chest. “First things...I’m wasted.”

Ian laughs. “Yeah, I know.”

“But,” Mickey continues, because there are some things he can only say while wasted and this is one of them, apparently, “I mean it. I want a kid. With you. Soon.”

“How soon?”

Ian’s probably just playing along, but Mickey gropes for an acceptable amount of time.

“Right fucking now,” is what he comes up with, and he means it. 

Ian laughs again, but he also puts his hand on Mickey’s dumb costume belly and strokes it like it’s real. 

“You’re serious? You want to start trying?”

“Hell yeah,” Mickey mumbles, feeling himself starting to drift off. “But...tomorrow, when I’m sober.”

“Okay, then. We can start tomorrow if you even remember this conversation.”

“Remind me,” Mickey manages to get out before he falls asleep.

***

The fourth time, it’s real. 

They’re happy--fuck that, they’re excited, terrified, nervous, incredulous and every other emotion they’re not used to feeling all at once--but they decide to wait until the start of the second trimester to share the news with anyone who isn’t in their family. 

So even though he thinks it’s stupid, Mickey still feels proud when Ian posts a picture of his bump and posts it on his Instagram. 

“Nobody’s gonna think it’s real,” Mickey scoffs. “They’ll all just think I had too much lunch.”

Ian shakes his head, smiling and rubbing Mickey’s stomach, which he can’t seem to stop doing every chance he gets. “They’ll get it. Trust me.”

They do not get it. They fucking don’t believe that Mickey Milkovich is growing a fucking human inside him. The jokes fly thick and fast in the comments, and Mickey snaps. 

“Get the--” He waves a hand at the fridge, anger briefly making him forget what the ultrasound pictures are called. “Get those! We’re taking another picture!”

Ian grabs one off the fridge. “ I can take another one when you’re showing more--”

“Fuck that. Take this one.” Mickey stands in front of the fridge, the ultrasound of their baby in one hand, a scowl on his face and a middle finger raised. Ian bites back a laugh and takes the picture.

“Okay, posted,” he says after a second. “Pretty sure they’ll believe us now.” 

The post that people end up believing contains the caption “It’s real, fuckers” and gets more likes than anything else Ian posts that month. Heartfelt congratulations start flooding in, and Mickey’s glad.

The only picture that gets even more likes is the one of their baby girl, six months later.


End file.
